


Closing Distance

by BelowBedlam



Series: Verity [5]
Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Cunnilingus, Desk Sex, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-15
Updated: 2015-11-15
Packaged: 2018-05-01 20:08:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,025
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5219135
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BelowBedlam/pseuds/BelowBedlam
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After defeating Corypheus, Kimani distances herself from Bull as she copes. So he builds a desk while he waits for her to come back around, and decides they should bang on it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Closing Distance

**Author's Note:**

> Pretty much feelings smut. I tried to make it a bit less weepy than the Canon Sex Scene, but who knows what happened.

Bull makes himself a desk from leftover wood cut too long for humans so that his knees can fit, so that when he leans this way or that, looking for paper or quill or inkwell, nothing is flipped over the edge. He asks for Blackwall’s help so the man can stop giving him guilty, shifty eyes whenever Bull sees him speaking to Kimani, as though his simple presence is condemnation enough.

 _That_ is a man with a number of demons to release. Bull considers him sometimes, thinks on how he could help. The more enjoyable ways would turn his _kadan_ red. Ah, well.

The desk is many shades of brown, the swirls and etches of each type of wood clashing with the other in a way Bull likes. He smooths it all together, puts in a cabinet and three drawers, as well as grooves in the surface so his inkwells and pen jars can sit snugly. Blackwall suggests making a chair to match, and Bull agrees; there’s certainly enough wood left over. Sera is quick to offer Bull a variety of choice in pillows: something about keeping the tushy from getting mushy.

By the time they’re done, Bull’s got a whole operation set up along the back wall of his room. The only missives he receives now are from Krem, but it’s so good to sit back and look over letters. Sometimes he looks over old letters, his gnarled brow furrowed as he reads things from a different life. When he’s done, he folds them away into the small leather wrap he keeps old things in (he should have known years ago that he’d end up here. There is no qunlat for “keepsake”).

Anyway. Desk still needs to be broken in. Properly.

…

 

Bull knows Blackwall, secret-keeper he may be, will let it slip to Kimani that he’d been building something with Bull. Bull just has to wait her out, as he’s been waiting since Corypheus’ defeat. It’s been hard for her, and her coping mechanisms only occasionally include him.

When she comes, he’d bet the Chargers’ salary that they’re of a like mind about the desk. She looks at it a moment too long, calculating, before she looks back at him. For a moment they stare at each other, stubbornly silent.

“Nice desk.” Her face is soft, her brows furrowed as she swaps “I miss you,” for mundane niceties. “Looks good.”

“Looks better over here,” he says, slinging his voice low. “But don’t take my word for it.”

Immediate flush, too-visible creeping up from the collar of her cream brigandine as she comes to him, brushing one of the silver hoops in her ears. Bull wonders where they’re from. Not standard jewelry though they’re simple; he likes how they bring out her cheeks.

“You’ve done well,” she nods, running her hands over the lacquered wood, prodding at the dips and tracing the mismatched patterns. “And a chair,” she nods to the visible edges of pink cushions. “So. You enjoying it?"

“It’s missing something,” Bull says easily. He’ll lead her if she wants.

“Oh?”

“Not quite broken in,” he drawls, and she claps her hand over her mouth to muffle the laugh.

Oh, shit, good. A little laughter, a little silliness. Bull grins wide and dumb.

“C’mere, _kadan_.”

“You’re not upset, then? That I’ve been distant.” She fingers the dragon’s tooth necklace, which marks a Big Thing, and also the last time he’d seen her naked.

“You wanna talk about it, we can talk about it. But after.” Bull reaches across the desk for her hand, leading her around to him and pulling her between his legs. Her perfumes wash over him, tempered by the sharp fragrance of hair oil. Eh. He was going to have to try and re-create the style after; slick and tucked would not do for his purposes. He begins plucking pins from her hair, twirling cloudy pieces around his fingers as he goes. Kimani rubs his chest, her lips soft on his neck, his ear, before she takes his face in her hands. She kisses him so gently he shudders, and she does it again.

“Why do you taste like wine,” she murmurs, littering his lips with light pecks. “You don’t even drink wine.”

“Some of it’s good,” He says, pulling her hair around her face how he likes it. It’s so long now, shoulder-length when she stretches it. “Can’t be all _maraas-lok_ , all the time.”

“Huh.” Kimani drags her hands down to play with his nipples, squeezing the flesh of his pectorals, tracing the hardened _vitaar_. Sweet, light sensation that has him biting his tongue. “Never thought I’d hear that from you.”

Bull slips her brigandine off of her shoulders, pulling at the laces of her tunic. 

“Do you want me to be gentle?” He asks, nuzzling her the way she does him.

“Not really. I just. I didn’t come only for sex. I _want_ it, but I don’t want you to think—“

“ _Kadan_ ,” Bull says firmly, stilling his hands. His tone of voice makes her flush harder. Noted. He reaches for her dragon’s tooth, sitting snugly under her fox’s jaw. “Distance doesn’t only mean miles. You’re mine however far away you go, however you cope, whether or not it always includes me. Okay?”

Wide eyes and a nod, fingers brushing his own necklace. “Yes.”

“Okay,” Bull says sweetly, slipping his hands beneath her open tunic. It falls to the floor in a whisper, followed by her unraveled breast-band. "Necklaces can go," He pauses for drama before pulling one of his drawers smoothly open, "in my new drawer. That I made myself." He smirks as she rolls her eyes, setting both of hers as well as his in the still-empty drawer. Bull closes it with a click, patting the wood. 

Breeches are next, pulled down with her smalls to her ankles. Bull ducks to kiss her stomach and confirm that there is indeed less soft to bury his face against. He smooths his hands over her hips, squeezing supple flesh as he kisses up her body, happy to see she’s still soft there. He can’t help it; the light _thwack_ of his hand on her ass is too good to pass up.

Kimani squeals, turning so she leans forward on the desk, and wiggles her ass at him. “That what you want?”

“In a minute,” Bull turns her and lifts her clear onto the desk, pulling away her boots and breeches. He draws his chair as close as his girth will allow and Kimani, thank fuck for her, locks those glorious thighs around him. She doesn’t fit the way a woman from Par Vollen might, but Bull likes the way they compensate, how his _kadan_ is so determined to be melded into him. She never says it, but he hears it all the same: _Mine._

He feels that everywhere. Head, chest, cock. And with the way she looks at him, her bottom lip caught in her teeth, the feeling doesn’t let up. He holds her gaze as he flicks a nipple with his tongue, circling it so she grunts softly before taking it in his mouth.

Bull would suck a dozen bruises across her chest if she ever let him. Still, she indulges him, arching so she’s presented prettily for his lips, tongue, teeth. He loves the way she curls into him, her breath hot on the top of his head, fingers stroking his horns. Rare that he gets to feel submerged in anyone, rare that he wants to, but this? The ache between his legs is magnificent, but this is worth the self-torture. And anyway, she’s got great tits; he swears they’re sweet.

She can only take so much teasing, slipping a hand between them.

“Now look who’s impatient,” Bull chides, easing her down onto the desk top. He pulls her hand away, licks the fingers nonchalantly before laying it on her stomach, and she shivers.

“Me,” she nods. “And you, don’t try and pretend.” She raises an eyebrow as he lifts her hips, nuzzling damp white curls.

Bull grins fiendishly. “Yes, Boss.” He bears down on her, sucking lewdly to elicit a satisfied cry from her. Her head falls back as she sighs.

Her taste is light and musky like her smell, though there’s no mixing of flowers on his tongue. He laps at her hungrily, grunting his pleasure as he feasts, holding her legs still when she becomes erratic. Her pleasure slicks him to the chin, it rings in his ears as she moans unbidden. She tries to grind her hips up, chasing her heights untilshe clamps down on the back of his head, holding him where it makes her shout and Bull circles her, letting his tongue slip too low to hear the scandalized gasp she chokes on. He laughs into her cunt as her climax trembles through her, rippling her skin into goosebumps as she rocks against his mouth.

It’s silly, but Bull’s convinced she’s sweet everywhere. He presses a sloppy kiss to her cunt before setting her down. “I definitely missed that.” Her flush has crept down her chest, splotchy and bright, and he strokes her skin.

“Mhmm, you're a menace,” She sighs, swallowing, the look on her face sublime. “You should let me be a menace, too."

“I’m not nearly done,” He grins, breath hitching when she ghosts fingers over her breasts, watching him with those damned eyes. "Indulge me. Next play is yours, promise."

“What’ve I-oh!” She gasps, laughing as Bull flips her over. He strokes the length of her back so she purrs, lifting her ass to him. “I can imagine the view.”

Bull whistles, admiring the lush swell of fragrant, brown skin, smoothing his palms over her curves. He kisses one cheek and she giggles, wiggling.

“Silly.”

“Something.” It comes out growly as his stomach tightens with anticipation. Bull strokes her thighs as he pulls his belt off, slipping his pants low so he’s blessedly free. He gives himself a brisk stroke, though he does not need it. Grabs his woman by the hips. Drags her off of the desk and onto his lap, grunting as he sinks into the swelling heat of her, tight and slick. Kimani curses quietly, flexing around him.

Bull holds her there, closing his eye. Sometimes, a man has to contemplate all he has before further enjoyment. He leans over to kiss her back, soft lips against flexing tendons. He finds her faded tattoo with his thumb, rubs over it. He kisses another spot on her back, a pale scar. Lifts her hips and guides them firmly back down, kissing between her shoulder blades when she cries out. Licks a bead of sweat on her spine. The demon scar is next; he hates the thing, so recklessly acquired. But he presses kisses along the line of that shoulder, feeling the hardened skin of a healing that could have gone better. But that was so long ago. One last kiss to the wound, a silent promise between him and it: _may you be the last of your kind._

She whimpers as though she hears, rocking her hips as much as he'll let her. She’s being so good, trembling but letting him take his time. Bull can feel her rush wet around him, wishes now that he could see her face. 

Another slide of her over him, controlled and slow. "Kimani, you don't know what you do to me." She gasps as he brings her down on him harder, glorious ass jiggling. "You fucking wreck me. I can't think," Bull pants, picking up speed as the sound of their bodies meeting claps loudly in the silence. "I can't work. Yet I want to work _harder,"_ He illustrates his point on a down stroke, grinding her hips against him so her moans pitch higher. She lay over the desk, head pressed to its surface as he exacts loud praise from her lips. “I’ve missed you. Shit, I’ve missed you, _kadan_.” 

“ _Bull_.” Kimani tightens around him to the rhythm of his strokes. “Oh, love. Let me...”She shifts, and Bull cries out when he feels wet fingers firm on his balls, massaging. Her shaky laugh nearly does him in. “With me.” She arches her back, pushing herself further into his hands, bracing herself against the table as she squeezes him in two grips. “Come with me. Get us there. I need it, you, this. Please.” 

Bull can’t help it then; he rises from the chair, lifting her with him, then pushing her down against the desk and folding her knees beneath her. She reaches to hook fingers over the edge of the desk, finding hold just as Bull begins thrusting into her. He can barely hear her praise or the slick slap of skin on skin or the desk creaking over the roaring in his ears but he can feel everything, every curve of her, all the heat of her, the drag of her. He can see everything, the way so much of his cock disappears into her cunt, the way her ass jolts with the impact, the way her arm flexes as she reaches beneath him to let his balls brush her fingers when he meets her. How she still manages to turn her head and catch his eye, her look pointed and drenched in pleasure, is beyond him. Most things at the moment, though, are beyond him; nothing much beyond the blessing of her cunt and the strain of her voice. _Oh, Bull, yes, shit_ ….

The tight feeling low in his belly begins giving way, pressure expanding, so he reaches a hand between her legs to help her along. How she has the fucking stamina, he still doesn’t understand.

“Come for me, _kadan_ ,” he rasps, but she’s already crying his name, her grip on the desk white-knuckled and her hips rising on the wave of her ecstasy. Bull hooks an arm around her, pulling her flush against him so she must rise on her knees, and he drives into her, his face buried in her neck, teeth firm on skin. The desk shakes and she’s keening, he’s grunting into her shoulder, hips slapping against her erratically as that pressure releases and his whole body lights up, the dark behind his closed eyelid lights up and he holds her tight, feels himself twitch inside of her as he releases.

Fucking _bliss_.

Bull steadies himself against the desk, panting. Kimani hums softly, her hands tight on his arm around her ribs as he nuzzles where he’s bitten her a bit too hard, kissing reddened skin.

“I’m sorry,” he murmurs, dazed. “Shit.”

“No,” she whispers, melting, once again, against him. The Anchored hand reaches up to stroke his face, and he instinctively leans into it, kissing her palm. He moves to release her and she whimpers, squeezing his forearm. “Oh, I like this. A little longer.” So Bull slides his other arm around her, busies himself with kissing up her neck, along her jaw, smiling when she turns her head to meet his lips. Gentle and unhurried, she languishes, reaching up to stroke his ear, then his horn as she sucks on lips and tongue, and shit, Bull can feel himself stirring again already.

“Hungry harpy,” he admonishes when he pulls away, kissing her on the forehead. She hums agreement as he slips out of her, dragging them both onto the cushioned heaven of his chair. He reaches to tap at the desk. “Good to know it’ll hold through a storm.”

“Did you just...call yourself a storm?” Kimani snorts, catching the hand to kiss its stubs, the palm, his pulse.

“You’re the storm, _asaaranda_ ,” he reminds her, stroking her thigh when she releases him. “I’ve gotta build shit with you in mind, merciless woman.”

“Are those the notes you gave Thom when you tasked him to help you? _Gotta make sure fucking the Inquisitor doesn’t wreck my desk_.”

“No,” Bull admits, hugging her close. His chest is all tight with affection he’s glad to give back; she’s always hugging him, caressing him. Love. A way of love. “But I should have. He’d wear himself out in his little haystack imagining it. Wouldn’t be able to look at you without turning red. Missed fucking opportunity.”

She laughs. He loves the sound of it, still hoarse from exertion, and happy. “Leave him alone. He already thinks you secretly want to kick his ass.”

“No no no; it’s not kicking ass if we’re sparring. It’s practice.”

“Unbelievable,” Kimani rubs his hands so he knows he can let go; she shifts in his lap so she can see him, rubbing errant circles into his belly. She keeps finding weird and delicious things to give him to eat. He’s not complaining. “Unbelievable that this is the man I’ve chosen to keep.”

“Stay in denial then, as long as you’re keeping me.” Bull likes how the words sound on his own mouth; he’s thought them, many times, but to hear them?  Kimani makes a small sound, and he knows he’s let something show on his face. He’s trying to do that, a little. He knows she appreciates it. And, it’s....nice, the way she responds, holding his face in her hands, kissing his lips, cheeks, eye-patch, nose, whispering _oh, big’un,_ into his skin.

Worth a bit of walls crumbling down, he thinks.

Eventually they migrate to his bed, fighting to wipe each other down and laughing as she crawls over him, only to be flipped back onto her stomach. Once they settle together, it’s deathly quiet. Her weight is always welcome against his ribs, her legs curling over his, arm flung across his chest. He begins drifting, breathing slow and steady.

“Don’t think...” She mumbles, further gone. “I’ve forgotten.”

“Hmm?”

“You owe me.”

“Next time,” he promises, smiling. He, personally, can’t wait.

“And a hairstyle. You owe me a hairstyle.”

Bull rubs her damp hair so she protests. “How do you say it? I’ll have your edges laid? Yeah.”

Kimani scoffs, patting his stomach as she nuzzles him. Bull lets himself slip away, beyond content and happy as hell with his heart curled around him.

**Author's Note:**

> For those who have not read The Moon In Her Mouth: My Inquisitor and Blackwall had a thing in the early Haven days. They remain friends, and Blackwall/Thom is still flustered by her, though neither harbor any true romantic inclinations towards the other.
> 
> Bull gives 0 shits by this point, but Blackwall gets a little antsy sometimes. 
> 
> Also, Kimani wears two necklaces: The Kadan necklace, and a fox's jaw given by her mother.


End file.
